


Six Months

by orphan_account



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, M/M, New York City, Slow Build, background finn x poe, ben the musician, finn & rey the artists, oops i wrote another AU, poe the sexy bartender
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-31
Updated: 2016-02-06
Packaged: 2018-05-17 12:07:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5868808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>From the author of "Resistance, New York".</i><br/>Rey Kenobi, a promising young artist from the desert-y Southwest, moves from her hometown to New York City as an experiment, giving herself half a year to take off professionally or ditch the crazy idea. Her successful art school friend Finn and his sassy career-minded friend Jess become her new roommates. Ben Solo is a struggling young musician trying to make it in the crowded New York indie rock scene, dealing with his band mate Hux, who may or may not have a drug problem, and his wealthy, less-than-approving parents. When Rey sets up in a borrowed studio in the top floor of a Hell’s Kitchen walk up and finds herself working above the apartment of a musician, sparks fly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Unfamiliarities

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I bring to you from the depths of my Star Wars nutso mind another AU, because I can't stop writing these dumb things. I've written a few chapters ahead so expect (hopefully) consistent updates this week. Leave some kudos/comments if you're into it, many thanks! x

When Rey Kenobi woke for the first time in her new home in New York City, it took her a moment to realize where she was. Even with her eyes closed, she was aware of a few unfamiliarities. For one, there was a steady wave of noise in the background - honking, cars, the ambience of the city. Rey was used to waking up to near silence, generally, save for the chirping of birds or a distant rooster. And secondly, the aromatic smell of coffee was wafting through the room in which she slept. She opened her eyes. 

The first thing she saw in front of her were boxes. Around the tiny room,  _ more _ boxes. Her bed was against the corner, underneath curtained windows on two walls, and most of the rest of the room was in a state of being unpacked. Her clothes were still mostly in suitcases and duffel bags. The dresser in the corner was only a little filled, and the walls were bare of any hangings or artwork. Unlike her previous room, this one was barely bigger than a closet. It did not have direct access to its own bathroom, and this whole condo in which her room was only had one to share, among three others. 

These facts may come off as negative at simple glance, but for Rey, they were a relief. This meant that the last month or so had not been a dream. She was really here, in New York City,  _ living _ . Her small nose perking up at the smell of coffee, she rubbed her eyes with her hand and sat up, checking the time on her phone on the bedside table, which was currently bare except a single lamp. It was a bit after 10 AM, later than she’d usually let herself sleep back home. But this was her new life, in a sense. Smiling to herself, she rose, running a hand through her messy, shoulder length brown hair and reaching to part the curtains, to let a little light into the dark room and allow her to find her robe. Looking out the window, her observations were confirmed. Yep, New York City, just as she left it. 

Rey found her robe draped over the end of her bed and slid her arms through it, tying it around her torso, which was clad in an old  _ Hosnian College _ t shirt and some pajama shorts. She walked out of her room and into the tiny shared bathroom next door, her eyes sliding over it for a moment before she went to wash her face. Her wash/makeup bag was sitting on the little ledge to the left of the sink. Above it was a small shelf of things - an electric toothbrush and a regular one, a half used up bottle of toothpaste, a thing of soap, and a woman's face moisturizer tub. On the shelf box on the small amount of wall space above the toilet next to the sink was more mixed men’s and women’s toiletries - a men’s razor, shaving cream and post-shave lotion, a flowered makeup bag and a cup of cosmetic brushes, a bottle of nail polish remover and one of contact solution. A small window looking out onto the back alley let in some natural light, and completing the tile floored bathroom was a tub/shower with a white curtain, inevitably also containing two different kinds of shampoos and shower gels, and so on. Soon, Rey’s things would also be intermingling with the established evidence of living around the room. She hoped it would not be too much of an annoyance to them.

After washing her face, brushing her teeth and putting on some moisturizer, Rey paused to look at her face in the mirror. Her wavy hair fanning around her angular features, she saw big greenish eyes, a small nose, high cheekbones and full lips looking back at her. Rather tan and youthful, Rey was an attractive young woman, thought she saw herself as plainer as she was.  _ This is the face of a New Yorker _ , she thought to herself, blinking at the strangeness of the realization, before straightening up and exiting the small bathroom again. She followed the smell of coffee through the small living/dining space, and found, sitting on a barstool at the counter of the open style kitchen, her old friend Finn.

He was sipping a mug of coffee and reading a copy of _Juxtapoz_ , a popular modern/urban art magazine, and looked up when Rey appeared. He gave a big grin that lit up his stocky facial features.  

“Good morning to you,” he said, his eyes following her as robe-clad Rey walked around him into the apartment’s small kitchen and over to the coffee maker to serve herself. She smiled back at him, her eyes sparkling.

“Thanks for thinking of me,” she said, lifting up the coffee pot and reaching into the cabinet for a clean mug. There were many there, all mismatched from different things, city mugs, college ones, and ones for random companies that Rey did not recognize. She reached for a blank maroon one and filled it up.

“Sure, sure. Was wondering when you’d get up…” 

He watched her, a content expression on his face.

“It’s nice to have some company in the morning!”   


Rey grinned as she added sugar to the coffee. 

“So where’s Jess?” she asked, speaking of the other person who lived in this apartment - Jessika Pava, a dark haired, sharp looking woman a bit older than her and Finn. She’d met her the previous day when she was moving in, with Finn’s assistance. 

“Oh, at work. She gets up pretty early.” Finn explained. “You know, corporate suit and all that.”   


“Corporate suit and starving artist…” Rey observed with amusement. “What a funny roommate combination.” 

Finn gave her a wry look, resting his arm on the counter. He was not dressed either, wearing a pair of sweatpants and a t shirt only. Rey was reminded of sleepy weekend mornings in the dining hall back in school, where they’d get up at noon and roll in to the dining hall for brunch in their pajamas, Finn in his perpetually paint stained sweats. Those were happy times, the memories made her smile. 

“Hey, I’m not starving. I don’t know about you but….”

“Don’t freak me out,” Rey answered, the good memories suddenly dispelled by a cold shot of reality as she was reminded of her situation. Now that her beverage was ready, she circled back out of the kitchen and sat down on a barstool next to Finn. The counter they sat at was somewhat cluttered with old newspapers and bills and mail in white envelopes. _ Oh yeah, bills _ . Rey forced the thought out of her head and looked interestedly next to her at the magazine that Finn was reading. 

“Anything good?” she asked, taking a sip. Finn gave a shrug. 

“Decent, but it’ll be even better next issue, when  _ I’m  _ in it,” he replied, giving a big proud grin. 

Rey chuckled, feeling a rush of pride in her friend as well. He was currently employed, along with a few other New York artists by a some progressive new high school in Brooklyn on a massive project. The vision of the school seemed to be grand, and they wanted their new space, a converted warehouse, to be covered in art. Art in the halls, around lockers, in the cafeteria… something about  _ exciting spaces  _ and  _ motivating creativity,  _ as Finn had explained to her. In any case, it was a massive installation and mural project. The prominent art magazine was interested in doing a piece about it, and so it would happen that Finn would be featured. He was immensely excited about it. The project itself was any artist’s dream - a solid paycheck, big name creds and media attention to boot. Finn was already established on the New York scene, and this was a big boon for him. Rey could only hope she’d get a chance like that sometime. 

The deal for Rey was six months. Six months in New York, six months to live with Finn on what she assumed was a highly generous rent rate, six months to try to get herself out there and take a stab at an actual career as an artist. Living in the tiny town of Jakku, New Mexico, repairing planes and cars in a mechanic’s shop and painting in her spare moments in an hot, abandoned garage, her canvas propped up on an old table and rusty car parts, was not going to cut it forever. She’d go for this, and if it didn’t work out, it would be off to try to get a job in a  _ real _ field, as most would call it, mechanical engineering or something else inevitably hard and boring. Sure, there was money there, that was a given… but she knew she’d regret it forever if she did not try at least  _ once _ to succeed creatively. 

So, there she was. Rey Kenobi, foster home girl turned college student turned mechanic and now reclusive artist - in the flesh, in New York City, in her friend’s tiny apartment. It was a lot of change in a short time, but it was a wholly new stage in her life. 

“I’m sure it will be.” Rey answered, grinning. “So, what’s on the agenda for today?”

Finn nodded slowly and closed his magazine.

“Well, there’s getting you unpacked, probably a trip to the art store if you need it, lunch, a visit to the studio, if we have time, and of course, a beer at Maz’s…”

“What’s that?” Rey asked. Finn gave a knowing smile. 

“A bar, or should I say,  _ the _ bar… look, you live a city with ten thousand bars, you gotta have the one you always go back to and finish the night at. For me, it’s Maz’s - this place a couple blocks down that’s halfway between a dive and an actual cool spot.” Finn replied, giving her a pat on the shoulder. “And you will soon come to love it too.”

Rey grinned. As daunted as she was by the prospect of a brand new city and trying to “make it” from practically nothing, the concept of finding somewhere to call herself a regular at was comforting. 

-

As the sun was starting to set on the city, an energetic Finn and a tired Rey headed out of their apartment and down the busy midtown street toward the place where they’d get a much needed drink, after a long day of unpacking and preparing. The usual New York sights, sounds and smells to which Rey was highly unaccustomed were in full force. Cabs and drivers honked each other out on the traffic choked streets, the sidewalks were full of every type of person in the world, and the sort of grimy, urban smell of the city hung over it all. Rey, her hands in the pockets of her jacket, followed Finn as they weaved around the busy sidewalk, he chattering excitedly to her about the big project he was employed on, which he was due back at tomorrow. She was thankful he’d taken two days out to help her move down. 

Rey herself had packed everything she owned over the previous weeks into her old car, wrapping up as many of her artworks as she could and strapping them to the bike rack along the top, and drove cross country over several days all the way through the Lincoln Tunnel to Finn’s place, saying bye to Jakku and hello to the Big Apple. The whole trip had been a blur - she’d driven straight through as long as she could to save on gas and accommodations, and slept in her car when she could. As she looked around constantly as they made their way down the sidewalk, mesmerized by the unfamiliar sights of the city, she was half surprised she’d made it at all. Culture shock was a good word for the way she felt. 

They came up finally on a busy part of the street that had lots of restaurants and bars and other nightlife on it, each with its own big lit up sign to attract passers-by. Combined with the traffic and the many people walking, the sight of it all overwhelmed Rey a little. Finn pointed out their destination - indicated by a big glowing sign. “MAZ’S” it read, above a door and a two big windows on either side. These windows held the drink menu and schedules for live music and other events at the bar. Rey did not have much time to look, for she hurried to follow Finn through the glass door.

From the business of the street outside, the mostly empty place had an peacefulness about it. It was a long rectangular room, containing a long bar with big racks of bottles behind it and bar stools in front. Across a narrow aisle was a set of booths, and near the windows, a round table or two with chairs. In the far corner of the room, next to a hallway leading to what looked like a kitchen and bathrooms, was a small triangular stage, presumably for live music. It was a low lit room with grungy concrete floors, and the smell of alcohol hanging over the place, but it did not look grimy or sketchy. There were a few posters on the wall decorating the place, and above the bar, a big hand drawn chalkboard menu with drinks and bar food. There were only a few patrons, at the end of the bar or at one of the side booths, talking amongst one another and enjoying drinks to the quiet soundtrack of rock music being piped out of somewhere. Finn took a deep, happy breath. 

“Welcome,” he said with a grin, placing a hand on Rey’s lower back and walking her over to the tall wooden bar, where they took their seats. Rey, looking around still, removed her jacket and tied it round her waist, resting her hands on the counter in front of her and tucking a bit of hair behind her ear. 

She glanced at herself in the mirrored back of the bottle rack behind the bar for a moment, when someone emerging from the back caught her attention. Said person was an extremely good looking man in a white t shirt and jeans, who was wiping his hands on a rag as he walked out into the area behind the bar. His strong, chiseled jaw was smattered with a rugged looking stubble, and he had messy, curly back hair over thick eyebrows and heavily lidded eyes. When he caught sight of the two new patrons at the bar, his face lit up.

“Hey, Finn!” he said, walking over to them, and glancing between Finn’s face and Rey’s. “The usual?”  
Finn gave a smile and a nod, his eyes sparkling in a way that Rey hadn’t seen before, as he regarded the gorgeous bartender. 

“Rey, this is Poe, he’s the go to guy over here,” Finn explained, gesturing to the person Rey now understood was the bartender, who was reaching behind him to retrieve a bottle of beer from a fridge. 

“Don’t judge me, just my day job,” Poe replied once he’d turned around, passing Finn his beer and giving Rey a dashing, crooked sort of smile. “Poe Dameron, at your service.”

“Hi,” Rey replied, smiling glancing between Finn and Poe. “I’m Rey.”

“Rey here’s my old college buddy, she’s moved in with us to give the art career a try,” Finn explained, taking a swig of beer and grinning at his friend. “So we’ll see how that goes.”

Poe gave her a nod.   
“First time in New York?” he asked, leaning a muscular bar on the arm. Rey looked back from Finn, who drinking his beer, watching Poe.

“Um, living but not visiting.” she explained. “Drove here from a small town, New Mexico….”

“That’s a hell of a drive!”  
She smiled at the ground, folding her arms in front of her.

“Well, I couldn’t pass up a chance to be one of those starving big city artists you always hear about.”

“Why do you keep saying starving,” Finn asked, laughing. “Nobody’s gonna starve!”

She rolled her eyes in amusement at him.

“Says the guy with a career…”

“Okay, fair point. Well, get whatever you want, this round’s on me.” 

Rey grinned at her friend and ordered herself a beer. Poe and Finn engaged in some conversation about upcoming events in the area, while Rey sipped her drink and meditated on the events of the last few days, which had her basically turning her old life on its head. She thought of the glorious sunsets in the desert, climbing on top of the old garage roof with her canteen, relishing the way the breeze dried the sweat on her tan neck. She sat and watched the slow, beautiful process of the change from bright blue sky to the black, star stutted of night. 

Rey reminded herself to not romanticize it too much. There was no future for her there, no culture - here, with its five million strange faces, was where she was now. It was going to take a bit of adjusting, but she set her mind to not missing it. 

“We could come, what do you think, Rey?” Finn’s voice interrupted her thoughts. Rey looked up and turned her head back to her friend and Poe the bartender, who was leaned up against the bar.

“Hm?” she asked, not having been paying attention to the previous conversation. “Sorry, what?”

Finn chuckled.

“There’s this band playing here next week.” he explained. “Wanna come and hang here?”

“What band?”

“Just this ultra local group,” Poe exclaimed, wiping a damp glass dry. “Just a few talented nobodies - think they’re called First Order.”   


  
  
  
  
  



	2. Studio 402

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meet Ben Solo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the responses so far! Hope you enjoy this chapter. Leave some comments if you do.
> 
> FYI, for those who don't know, Hell's Kitchen is a neighbourhood in New York City, on the West part of Midtown.

When Ben Solo woke up, he was dimly aware of two things. Number one, his head was hurting like an absolute  _ bitch _ . The sort of hazy, pounding pain that only came with a hangover. The other thing was that there was someone else in his room. Squinting, he raised his head to look at the slim figure at the foot of his bed, who seemed to be hurriedly sliding on some jeans. Ben tried to get up faster, but was slowed down by the pain within his own head. He gave a little groan, raising his hand to press against his forehead, onto which his own wavy black hair was falling.

The figure, that he now knew belonged to a curvy young woman with dirty blonde hair, who tossed him a glance before picking up a shirt to put on. 

“Uhh…” was all he could manage to get out as he squinted at her pulling her shirt over her head. She scowled at him after she pulled it on, shaking out her long hair, and looked around the room, seemingly searching for something.

“Where’s my purse…” she muttered, pushing her hand through her hair. Not looking at him, she opened the door and stalked out of his room. Realizing the full situation, Ben scrambled out of bed, rubbing his face quickly with his big hands. Becoming aware of his own nudity, he grabbed the first pair of sweatpants in his sight line and stumbled into them, determined to catch the girl before she left.

“Wait, Emily,” he called, finally getting his leg through the other foot hole and pulling the pants up fully, amazed that her name even came to his head. Dizzy almost to the point of falling over from moving so fast with a pounding head, he managed to escape his dark bedroom and make it into the living room. Emily, the girl who’d he’d woken up to rushing to dress and get out, was standing next to his couch looking at her phone. When she saw him, she frowned and put it into her pocket, reaching for her coat which was laying on the couch near her. 

“No, thanks,” she said flatly, pulling her arms through it as a Ben stood awkwardly, shirtless by his bedroom door, his messy hair up in odd angles from sleep.

“Don’t you at least want some coffee?” Ben asked in a pained tone, looking over at the girl who was clearly not in any rush to stick around. She sat down stiffly on the couch and reached for her shoes. The attractive young woman shook her head as she shoved her feet into them and tied up.

Ben, still standing there, scratched the back of his head.

“Do I get some kind of explanation?” he asked, screwing up to try and remember the events of the pervious night. There was that club with Hux who’d disappeared after taking god-knows-what in the bathroom and leaving Ben to fend for himself, getting into a conversation with a few NYU students, shots, more shots….

“What’s there to explain?” The girl, Emily, said coolly as she rose. She walked over to the door and opened it, casting one more annoyed look into his direction.

“ _ This was a mistake, plain and simple! _ ” she called behind her, starting down the hallway of the building where Ben’s apartment was, toward the elevator that lead outside. He crossed the room, to the doorway and leaned out to look at her retreating back.

“So I’m guessing I shouldn’t call you?” he called, feeling somewhat pathetic. Without turning around, the girl Emily gave a shake of her hand and disappeared down the hall. Ben stood there, half naked, in his doorway, for a few more moments, staring at the empty, drafty hallway. He groaned to himself, rubbing his face with his hand again, before walking back inside his apartment and slamming the door shut.

_ Another one bites the dust _ . 

Faced again with his tiny living room and kitchen, to the left, Ben paused by the doorway to collect his thoughts. His eyes scanned the messy little space - a couch and an arm chair facing a small TV on a stand. On the wall above, a number of framed vintage posters for old bands, promoting gigs around the city for times before he was born, as decor.

Against the wall directly across from the doorway, was a single window and beneath it, a small table with two chairs that was usually covered in some combination of scraps of papers with pieces of songs written on them, a laptop, take out containers, and guitar picks. Taking up a large part of the room, in the corner near the table, were the guitars to which those pics matched up with, an acoustic and electric in their various cases, leaned up on two amps and a few bundles of cables. Sitting next to the couch was a big black case for drum parts. Other evidence of his status as a musician was evident elsewhere in the house - a record player sitting on a crate of records in one corner of the living room, a bunch of rolled up gig posters in a bundle on his bedroom floor. Ben gave a sigh and headed for his bathroom for a shower, which, like the rest of the house, was very small.  

Ben Solo was so tall that he had to bend his head to get it wet underneath his small showerhead. He looked down at his body as he showered up, eyeing his lanky, pale limbs. It was to some degree flattering that the girl from last night had taken to him enough to come home with him but far less so to understand that she did not consider it her finest moment. Sighing frustratedly, he decided it would have been better if she’d just  _ not _ slept with him. They both had been clearly drunk, anyway. 

As he finished up in the shower and emerged into his steamy bathroom, his mind drifted to Hux, wondering with some degree of alarm about where  _ he _ had woken up that morning. He pictured his intense, red haired band mate and long time friend, in his usual muted color attire who’d disappeared at some point last night and left Ben, annoyed and on his own. Ben noted with a degree of concern how often he was worried about him these days. 

He mainly just hoped he wouldn’t have to be carting him to the hospital any time soon. They had a gig on Friday night, for Christ’s sake. It was at a small bar not too far from his apartment here. And thank goodness, because there was  _ nothing _  more fun than dragging an amp and a guitar onto the L train back from Brooklyn at a godless hour, kind of tipsy yourself. It would probably be low key - a tiny stage, a crowd that cared far more about their next beer than the performing act, but it was  _ a _ gig. He reminded himself to post about it again to their few thousand twitter followers,  _ First Order @ Maz’s Midtown, free, show start at 8 pm…. _

After he’d brushed his teeth and shaved the stubble from last night off his neck, Ben wrapped a towel around his waist and shuffled into the kitchen for an aspirin and a large glass of water. He noted the emptiness of his fridge with a frown, and frowned at the sight of his phone, the screen of which read “ _ 1 Missed Call - Mom _ ”.

Why is it that the girls that he wanted to call him never did, and the one he almost never wanted to talk to wouldn't stop?

With another small sigh, he wandered out out of his kitchen, through the carpeted living room of his matchbox-like apartment in Hell’s Kitchen and back into his messy bedroom. He dug out some clothing from the mess around and tossed them onto his bed, about to disrobe again to dress himself, when a strange sight out of his window caught his eye. A brow raised in confusion, he watched the space outside his window, which contained the black metal fire escape that snaked up the building, where Hux would sometimes go to smoke cigarettes when he was over at Ben’s. Aside from this it was usually empty, save for the occasional pigeon. Right now, however, someone was out there, bent onto their knees and scooping something into a box, by the look of it. It wasn't a robber attempting to break in, but a young woman in jeans and a flannel shirt. She was frowning down at the box she was attempting to refill, her brown hair pulled back from her face. Ben wondered, mesmerized by the strange sight, as to how the box had gotten there, and what reason this unfamiliar person had for being there. 

The box, by what he could see, was a heavy duty plastic tool box. The girl got the lid on it back closed and brushed dirt off of its side, and was about to leave, it seemed, before turning her head to glance into his window. The sight of a damp, over 6 foot tall half naked man, watching her in confusion seemed to surprise her, a pair of big eyes widening. She, whoever  _ she _ was, hopped quickly to her feet, hoisted up her box, and scampered off, climbing back up to the next floor by the sound of it. Ben stood there for another moment, blinking at the bizarre episode. 

_ New York life _ , he thought to himself, shaking his head to himself. Anything could happen. 

 

_ 25 minutes earlier _

 

Rey paused at the end of the street, looking behind her to make sure everything on the cart that Finn had lent her was still there. It was a plain, hand truck style cart, light and metal with four wheels and a single handle. She’d rolled it the few blocks from their Chelsea apartment down the bumpy sidewalk down to the Hell’s Kitchen neighborhood, always looking concernedly back that nothing had fallen off. She had some of her canvases and paper pads strapped to the handle, squeezed by the boxes of art supplies, some old that she’d brought from Jakku, and some new that she’d spent too much money on at a local art store. Plus, she’d brought with her a bag of other things she might need, extra layers or changes of clothing, some snacks, and her laptop, all sorts of studio essentials. If only it was  _ her _ studio. 

Very few people on the busy sidewalks had given Rey, in her usual studio attire of jeans and a plaid shirt plus a very uncool pair of tennis shoes, much of a weird look despite the large load she was lugging. People here, at least, those who weren’t tourists, cared much more about their attire than anyone had back in her small New Mexico town of previous residence. She made a mental note to start wearing her shiny black combat boots, instead, and bringing the paint splattered sneakers to change into. Just one more adjustment to make.

She cross checked the street number with the address on her phone, and looked up and down the quieter side street, before summoning her energy again and pulling her cart down the dirty sidewalk, past a corner bodega mart whose façade was covered in signs for what it sold, and down toward a bunch of residential and office spaces. The street seemed to be half old, walk up style brick townhouses with stairs leading up to them, and newly renovated studio spaces. Some looked like they could also be housing other artist's’ work spaces. Rey thought wistfully about what it may be like to have your very own, big studio. For the mean time, especially since he was out at the big project in Brooklyn for a while, Finn was letting her use his “crappy, cockroach ridden” work space. Rey did not much care, anywhere that wasn’t an abandoned, air conditioning-bereft garage full of mice was alright with her. A real New York art studio, and everything. She felt a surge of pride in her friend for being able to establish himself to the point where he was so successful that he could have such a space. It was any up and coming artist’s dream, even if it wasn’t much.

Passing from a chic looking renovated warehouse space to a drab looking townhouse with snaking fire escape and a clothes line crossing to the other side of the street, she found the address she had been searching for, the second to last building on the street. Mercifully, its door was accessible from the ground - no stair climbing required. Rey let herself in with the buzzer key card that Finn had given her a copy of, and shoved the door open, holding it with a leg while she dragged the cart over the threshold and into the meager, concrete floor lobby of the residence. 

Finn’s studio was at the top floor of the building, she had been told. Her options for getting here were the elevator, which was a very large, old freight style one, or a stairwell. Given her baggage, she let herself into the gargantuan elevator. It had a chain-link door like a fence, that showed glimpses of the passing floors, allowing you to hear snatches of any sound that could be heard in hallways. 

“ _... I shouldn’t call you? _ ” she heard a voice, above, somewhere upon one of the higher floors, say loudly. Rey raised her eyes at the sound, checking the floor number. The elevator paused on the floor just above her destination, the door sliding open to reveal a young woman with blonde hair, standing there, looking a little flustered. 

“Going up?” Rey asked, wondering if she had something to do with the sliver of a conversation she’d just heard. The girl, tucking some of her messy hair behind her ear, shook her head and stood back. Rey waited for the door to shut, and the big elevator trundled up onward. 

The hallway on the top floor had a concrete floor and was lit by a narrow strip of fluorescent lights. Rey dragged the cart off the elevator and directly across it to the door of number 402, Finn’s studio. Pausing after she unlocked the door, Rey took a purposeful breath and let herself in.

She found herself in a big, airy space with high ceilings, unfinished walls and floors, and big glass paned windows along one wall. It looked like the inside of an abandoned old warehouse. The center of the room was mostly bare. At one end of it, a bunch of artworks covered in big tarps were pushed up against a wall, next to a big, paint splattered work table on which sat many tubes of pigmet, cups of brushes, a roll of canvas, and other supplies like that. A big industrial sink sat against one wall, above a bucket full of rags. A door led to the a small bathroom, next to another corner that held a big digital stereo sitting on an upturned crate, next to a big column style CD holder. The exposed rafters in the ceiling were mounted with big floodlights in some spots, and wrapped elsewhere in colorful strings of Christmas lights. On the walls, Finn had hung some miscellaneous art and music posters, and there was an faded plush couch pushed up against a wall.

Rey could not help the grin that came to her face - it was simply exactly the type of space any artist would love. She closed her door and pulled her cart in, leaving it by the wall with the windows, and once she got the eclectic lighting set up the way she wanted, she got to setting up her things. The windows showed a view of the building that backed up to this one, across an alley. It wasn’t anything special of a view, but it was certainly different to her previous studio’s view, which was of a large, seemingly endless expanse of scrubby-desert landscape. In the distance, huge rocky outcroppings jutted into the enormous sky, huge and mighty. Rey felt, and was, very far from the oppressive heat and deserted landscapes of Jakku. But for now, she was alright with it. 

She worked for a while to get herself unpacked. The big blue box where she kept her paints was a transplant from home, and she sat it down on the window sill. She could not remember exactly where she’d gotten it, but it was a big blue, hard plastic one with a black handle that she found highly reliable, even if she was not its first owner. Across the top, she’d printed her name in black sharpie - REY KENOBI. At this point, it was a little worn off, but still readable. 

It was this specific, precious possession of hers that caused her first in-studio crisis. While unloading her cart, she swung back against the window, misjudging the distance and how she’d set the box there, because she hit it with her back hard enough that it fell right out the window and landed somewhere below with a loud THUMP. Rey, her eyes shooting open in surprise, tossed whatever was in her hands to the side and rushed to the window, leaning out to assess the damage, her heart in her throat. 

To her immense relief, it had not fallen far. It seemed to have fallen through the opening for the stairs on her own floor’s fire escape, and landed on the one for the floor below. Giving a relieved sigh, Rey swung one leg over the side of the fire escape and gingerly, but quickly as she could, scuttled along the side, down the rickety black metal stairs, and onto the next level down.

She got on her knees in front of the box, whose lid had sprung open a bit upon impact, checking for cracks, but luckily found only a few scuffs on the side. She was glad it had not broken. That would have been a dark omen for her first studio day. Thinking about this, Rey picked up each individual, somewhat mangled bottle of paint that had fallen out after the impact. She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear absently, unaware that she was being watched until she had the box packed up. She closed the lid tightly, thankful for an averted disaster, and turned her head toward the building. Her eyes instantly noted that she was right next to the window of the floor she was on, that looked in on what looked like a bedroom. A man was standing across the room, next to a bed, watching her perplexedly. He was very tall, naked to the waist, and had wet hair like she he had just gotten out of a shower.

Her cheeks burning with embarrassment, she jumped to her feet, grabbed the box, and hurried to get back onto her own floor before anything else embarrassing occurred. She knew that peeping toms were a big city stereotype, but she did not intend on assuming that position herself….   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	3. The Deal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben and Leia discuss the future, and two neighbours have a little run in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Leave some love in the comments/kudos if you're enjoying.

Everything about the situation that Ben was in at that moment made him uncomfortable. First of all, there was the setting. A trendy, upscale Upper East Side restaurant, full of chattering, well dressed people, the kind of people who wore suits and designer dresses on a Saturday morning. Low key Bossa Nova music was being piped in - the kind of 60sish lounge music with Brazilian singers that fancy places always played, if not jazz. One could tell if was one of those pretentious places by the size of the font on the snow white menus - tiny. Another uncomfortable thing, the prices of the food, so silly that if his mother wasn’t paying, he’d have stuck to nursing a glass of water and passed on eating all together. And there was too much damn white everywhere. The table had a shiny, white top. The little flower in the centerpiece pot was white. His mother’s dress and jacket were also white.

That brought him to more things that were making him uncomfortable. The presence of his mother. She, unlike he, looked like exactly the type of person who belonged at this kind of establishment. Even in their clothes, they looked like opposites. Ben was wearing a grey t shirt, skinny jeans and his usual black boots, his worn-in jacket draped over the back of his chair. His black hair was not sticking up like it did when he woke up, but it was definitely shaggy. He had his usual piercing in, in one ear - he looked like he belonged more in some coffee shop or a flea market in the Village, busking with an acoustic guitar. 

His mother, Leia Organa, could not look more different. Her greying brown hair was swept up away from her lined face, which, despite her age, maintained an elegance, and she wore a white dress with a high neckline and a slim matching jacket, all clean lines and Jackie O refinement. The big sunglasses sitting on the table in front of her matched the look - classy, aging socialite. But anyone who knew Leia knew she was more than just her expensive jewelry and immaculate wardrobe. 

Her son came from a line of powerful, respected women. His grandmother, Padme, had been an important senator, a daring diplomat in a time when this was not usual for women. Her daughter had followed in her footsteps of leadership, working for a number of important NGOs and charities, over the years, keeping up the family position. In the last decade, or so, she’d taken a break from all the saving the world stuff, and muscled her way into the art world, currently serving as the director of one of the city’s most important contemporary galleries, second only, to the Museum of Modern Art itself. She had a reputation as a tough advocate for her chosen cause, and a true art lover who was not afraid to take risks with her shows. 

And then, there was Ben, sitting across from her, all shaggy hair and drainpipe jeans, the directionless fuck-up watching her uncomfortably as she checked something on her iPhone. Considering his family’s money and connections, he could really do something with his life, go into some important field or make even more money. And yet here he was. He was in no rush to join his mother on her designer throne, however.  

“Alright…” Leia muttered, giving whatever she was looking at on there a small nod and clicking the lock button, laying it down gently next to her sunglasses and glass of water. She folded her elegant hands in her lap and looked at her son with her sharp eyes. Ben, getting the sense that he was in for some sort of grilling, tried to quickly think of a way to deflect it. 

“How’s, uh, stuff down at the gallery?” he asked quickly, shifting in his seat. His eyes flicked over to the next table, noticing an old, well dressed woman watching, and judging him, based on her expression. She looked quickly away when she noticed him looking. Ben resisted the urge to roll his eyes, and rubbed the bridge of his prominent nose, looking back at his mother.

“Oh, pretty well, thank you for asking,” she said, a small smile coming to her thin lips as she spoke. “We’re working on the big upcoming exhibition - ‘Five x Five Under Twenty Five’ _._ Five pieces from five young artists, under 25, of course. Having some issues with some of the artists, thought, they can be a bit…. difficult to work with.”

“You know us artsy kids,” Ben replied, leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest. “Difficult to work with.”

Leia watched him, aware of the sarcasm, and gave a small dark chuckle. Her son had always had quite the mouth. Ben regretted the comment a moment later, as it had provided his mother with an efficient segue to get to what was clearly the main point of this little outing. 

“Yes… indeed. That brings me to what I wanted to discuss with you.”

Ben rubbed at the side of his temple, staying silent and preparing for the incoming assault. Leia took a composed breath and surveyed her son. His face had so much in common with her now ex husband, more and more as he had grown from a boy to a man. Ben himself knew this too. He wondered, well, observed, that she probably felt the same way about him as she did about his father - disappointed.

“I want to know what’s on your calendar,” she began carefully, shifting her fork in front of her empty place setting a miniscule amount with a manicured finger.  “For the future.”

“We have a gig next week,” Ben blurted out in response. His mother gave a small nod, her lips pursing slightly in a way that Ben knew meant that she wasn’t pleased. It was clear for many years that she had little interest in any of his artistic pursuits. Neither his parents had much support for anything like that. That, plus the simmering resentment of many years of being shunted off in a British boarding school while his parents argued over custody and assets through their lawyers when divorcing messily, left Ben with a highly strained relationship with Leia and Han Solo, thought she had reverted to her maiden name at this point. 

“I see.” Leia said. “I was thinking more… long term, if you will.”

Ben thought on his feet to try to get off the topic.

“What does  _ dad _ think of all this?” he replied finally, stalling. Not that he cared. Ben was not even sure where his father was, at the moment, and that fact did not bother him. The comment had had his desired impact - his mother’s features tightened. 

“I haven’t spoken to your father in some time. However-”

“Where is, anyway?”

Leia gave a small sigh, moving a strand of her perfectly arranged hair with a tinge of irritation.

“Africa, somewhere. Don’t try to change the subject. I know he supports me on this one.”

“Just about the only damn support he gives, huh….” Ben muttered, taking a sip from his glass of water, his eyes shifting around the pretentious restaurant where brunchers ate, talked and judged one another’s attire. The whole place felt very stuffy to him, and he wanted to get out quite a lot. Give him a good local bakery bagel with all the works - now, that was Saturday breakfast enough for him.

Leia ignored the comment.

“Regardless, your father and I both think it’s high time you got moving, son.” 

Ben felt the irritation in himself growing, which was only making him more annoyed with himself. He was  _ such _ a textbook case - the disappointing son of the rich, popular divorced couple. Parents paying his rent, which was more than a lot of the musicians he knew could claim. It made him feel guilty, too, living on mommy and daddy’s cash but not going anywhere. But he was determined, insistent that he at least  _ try _ to make it, before surrendering his soul to their world. God, even the wording of the thought sounded pathetic. 

Across from his, his mother’s expression was softening, a little. She really did care for her son very much. She did not want their relationship to deteriorate like the way her’s had with her ex husband, and was invested in preserving it, though perhaps not in the best way. But that did not stop him from feeling bitter. 

“Give me six months,” he said finally, testily, feeling very much like he was drawing some dangerous lines. His mother, a lifelong good negotiator and businesswoman, looked at him interestedly, knowing a proposition when she heard one.

“Six months…?”

“Six months to make it or… I’ll go out and do whatever you want me to do.”

Leia, pleasantly surprised, nodded, crossed her arms and paused to think for a moment.

“How will we define ‘making it’?” she asked logically.

“Getting signed,” Ben decided, his heart dropping with every word. But he had to think of  _ something _ . He needed to delay getting cut off by her by any means necessary. “Or in talks with a label.”

“I’ll agree to that one.” his mother replied, tilting her head and smiling. Ben was relieved she was satisfied with him. For now. “You’d be great on Wall Street, Ben. You’ve got a Columbia education, for goodness sake!”

_ Oh, to have the most impressive degree of any opening act on the block,  _ Ben thought to himself, holding back a snort. He paused, knowing he was being unfair. His mother, she was a successful, well loved, and much respected woman. She’d invested a lot in her son, and of course, was it so cruel for her to want something out of him, something to be proud of? Ben, pained, just wished it could be for what he loved, not what  _ she _ thought he should do.

Now that she had gotten what she clearly wanted out of him, he sunk down in his seat, as the waiter came by to drop off their overpriced egg dishes. Feeling defeated, he thought about how he’d explain this to Hux. 

 

“Six months.” Ben’s intense, red haired band mate repeated. Hux exhaled cigarette smoke, the wind blowing it away. His brown eyes, in which there was frequently a lack of amusement, did not look too happy at this. Ben shifted uncomfortably, nodding in admittance.

Ben shifted his arms around his acoustic, which he was holding on his lap, the cold railings of the fire escape digging into his shoulders. He moved around till he found a more comfortable position, sitting with his long legs spread out in front of him. Hux sat leaned back on the brick wall, next to the open window of Ben’s apartment out of which they’d climbed. In his black pea coat against the chill of the end of the day, one knee pulled up against his chest, his jaw smattered with stubble and a cigarette between his fingers, he looked like some sardonic beat poet from a generation past, looking intensely out into the city in which he lived. In reality, however, he was just the First Order’s drummer, a reserved, sarcastic guy with self destructive tendencies. He smoked too much, he visited a flask he kept in his pocket too frequently, and recently, he tended to disappear on their nights out, indulging in questionable substances. Ben, worry as he did for his long time friend, tried not to stress out too much over this. They were friends, close, for ages, and band mates, but Hux did not take Ben inquiring about what he did in his downtime too kindly. 

“I’m…. sorry,” Ben said finally, his messy black hair falling across his forehead as he leaned down, absently strumming a tune. “But, you know her…. needs dates and deadlines for everything. Nothing like me.”

“Fuck’s sake.” Hux muttered in reply, running his sleeve across his nose and sniffing. He took another thoughtful drag of his cigarette, falling back into silence as was his default. Ben played for a few more minutes, switching between his own songs, memorized, and random ad lib bits, his fingers moving nimbly over the neck as his long, pale fingers formed the chords. If only he was as good with women as he was with his playing. 

“Could you not blow that in my face….” he spoke up, continuing his playing without looking up. “Not trying to smell like an ashtray.”

“You mean, like me?”

Hux gave a smirk and lifted his head up, blowing out his smoke directly upward like a wolf howling at the moon. 

“It turns people off, in my experience.” 

He was reminded instantly of his experience with the girl from the previous morning, and divulged it to his band mate, who gave a bark of laughter.

“Classic.” he said, after Ben finished telling his depressing story.

“Just like I  _ thought _ you’d respond.” 

“Hm, what would you prefer?” Hux said, grinning darkly. “‘The always tasteful ‘ _ bitches be crazy _ !’...?” 

The two friends both chuckled to themselves. Neither were really too skilled in the romance department. Ben had always been too distant and awkward to attract many long term things, and the girls that Hux went for frankly scared Ben. Putting those two things together made for a good load of the First Order’s songs being downbeat, lyrically, in regards to love. 

Ben played for a few more minutes, and Hux smoked, the two of them taking in the late afternoon coolness of the city together. It was in that moment that Ben realized he was being watched, after he looked up randomly. 

Leaning out of the window on the floor above, looking down at them through her own fire escape, was a young woman. He could not make much out about her at this distance, aside from the fact that she had wavy, brown hair hanging down as she leaned over, and was the same girl he’d caught on his fire escape the other day. They caught eyes for a moment.

“Spying on me again?” he called up, the corner of his mouth flicking up. Hux looked up too, and the girl hastily withdrew. Ben heard the sound of her closing the window above.

“Spying?” Hux inquired, raising an eyebrow. Ben shrugged, returning to his strumming.

“Don’t know who she is. Caught her on my fire escape yesterday. I think something fell out of that window.”


	4. Big City, Good Company

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter, fluffier chapter for you - but cute bonding! Real action just over the horizon... leave some kudos!

As they sat in a cozy booth at Maz’s, Rey felt warm inside, and not just because of the beer she had in her hand. 

On her left was Jess, still wearing her work clothes, a pantsuit and a blue blouse, though she'd let her hair, long and black, down around her heart shaped face and full lips. Across from them, on the other side of the table, Finn sat near to the wall, telling them funny stories from the site of the school project in Brooklyn. He gestured a lot when he spoke, his face lit up as he entertained them, and beside him, Poe, who’d gotten off his shift just as they arrived, watched. His dark hair perfectly mussed around his light brown face and a plaid shirt on over his white t shirt, he grinned handsomely as he watched Finn. 

The bar, dim in evening, was filling up with nighttime patrons looking for a drink. It was a lively, inviting atmosphere, and Rey was immensely happy about it.

“Well, how’re you liking the studio, small town girl?” Finn asked her after he finished one his stories, taking a sip of his beer. All eyes turned to her and she blinked, then smiled.

“In a lonely world?”

“I  _ hate _ that song.”

Rey chuckled. 

“Well, to answer your question, It’s excellent,” she answered enthusiastically. 

“If you like cockroaches…” Jess commented sarcastically, smiling wryly at Finn.

“Hey, I’m dealing with it!” he defended. Rey and Poe chuckled, catching eyes. She found her roommate's friend, the sometimes-bartender, dashing as hell, but reminded herself not to allow herself to develop more than distant admiration. She was here to focus on her art, that was the deal she’d made with herself.

“I happen to think it’s great.” Rey said, a smile on her face. “Though I've had some awkward interactions with your downstairs neighbor.”

Finn raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t know anyone living in that building, but there sounds like a story there….”

Rey chuckled, assuring the group that it was nothing too entertaining, and divulged to them the run ins she’d had with the tall, dark haired man who lived on the floor below, the latest of which was yesterday. She’d been working in the studio, music piping in through her headphones, so that she did not hear them below on the fire escape, till she  _ smelled _ them. The odor of cigarettes, to be more precise, one that Rey never liked, and one that was currently floating up through the studio’s open window. 

She had taken off her headphones, listened for a moment at the soft sound of someone playing guitar close by, and walked up to the window, leaning out to investigate interestedly. Two figures were sat on the fire escape level beneath her own. The source of the smoke smell became clear, as one of the men was holding a cigarette in a pale hand. She could tell little about him except the bright red color of his hair, which stood out against his dark coat as he slouched against the side of the building. A few feet away, leaned on the side of the railing, another figure had long legs in jeans stretched out, and was strumming a guitar melodically. 

Rey had stood there, for a few moments, watching the large, dark haired man strum, enjoying the melody, but not the smell of the cigarette smoked by his companion. The guitar player had suddenly looked up, and Rey quickly recognized him as the man she’d accidentally looked in on the previous day, when she was picking up her fallen toolbox from the exact place he was now sitting. He’d called her out that second time, looking amused, and she quickly darted back in the room and closed the window, embarrassed in front of him again. About him, she’d only registered that he was young, perhaps her age, with shaggy black hair and an angular face, and very good with the instrument in his long arms. She’d stood by the closed window a moment later, listening to her neighbors’ muffled conversation, before returning to her work, shaking off the strange moment. 

“In this city, it’s generally frowned upon to spy on people,” Poe teased her over his beer. Blushing, Rey looked away. 

“I wasn’t spying!” she defended, looking back at her friends, who were amused, clearly at her story. “I was just looking. Not the first time, though, that was a complete accident. I get it, people keep to themselves around here.”

“Learning fast, nice, nice.” Jess commented. “You’ve still got a lot to learn though. Gotta be careful in the big city.”

“Yeah, it’s a lot more  _ crowded _ than the desert you escaped from!” Finn chimed in. Rey grinned at the ground. 

“It certainly is.”

She looked around the group around her table, feeling warm again, warm with the happiness of being accepted into a group so fast. She’d certainly have a harder time getting by around here if it wasn’t for already having some friends. 

“Thanks, guys,” she said, after a pause. “For the friendliness, and stuff…. you’re making the transition easier, I appreciate it.”

“I’ll drink to that…”

Finn raised his bottle, his eyes sparkling at her, and Rey grinned. They toasted, and the conversation moved onto other things. Rey sipped her drink, taking in the ambience of voices, clinking glasses, and catchy electronic song playing from the speakers in the ceiling. A few minutes later, Poe excused himself briefly, leaving the table. Jess turned her eyes on Finn.

“I swear to God,” she began, in an amused drawl. “If you don’t ask him out soon, I’m gonna do it for you. And it’ll be embarrassing.”

Finn gave her a scowl that melted away in an instant, and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Am I that obvious?” he asked apprehensively. Rey turned her curious expression on Jess, who was shaking her head to herself, chuckling.

“Mr. Successful  _ Artiste _ over here has had a crush on our sexy bartender friend for ages now, and he’s just  _ sitting _ on it.”  

Rey looked over at her long time friend, grinning. Now that Jess mentioned it, it made sense. The way Finn watched Poe was in that kind of enamoured, bashful way that people who were attracted to people watched each other when they spoke. Like their eyes could hardly keep up with it all, and they were trying to hide it.

“Oh...,” she commented softly, realizing. Finn gave her a amused scowl too. 

“I just… keep it quiet. I don’t even know if he’s…. you know.”

“Uh huh,” Jess said with an eyeroll, pushing a hand through her dark hair. “If he was straight, he would have asked for Rey’s number already.”

Rey felt her face warm up.

“Well, maybe he’s taken then.” Finn replied defensively, eyeing Rey, who was still embarrassed.

“I’ve never heard him mention anyone.”  
“Neither have I. So the mystery shall remain.”

Jess shook her head to herself again, in amused exasperation, and took another swig of her beer. 

“Life’s so much simpler for you straight folks,” she commented at Rey,  who chuckled slightly uncomfortably back. Rey did, however, feel like if they were riffing on her already, she was being accepted, which was a good thing. 

“You guys flatter me,” she replied, rubbing her left upper arm with her right hand. Finn chuckled, and they sat in peaceful silence for a moment until Poe reappeared. 

“Speak of the devil,” Jess said, catching eyes with Finn, who was staring daggers at her. Poe did not notice, however, and just smiled.

“What are we talking about, then?” he asked.

“Just wondering if you get a lot of tail as a bartender.”  
Poe looked amused and surprised at the comment, pushing some of his dark, curly hair back, and scratching the side of his angular, stubbly jaw. 

“Like, do _ I  _ get a lot of tail, or bartenders in general?”

Jess shrugged, shooting Finn a sly glance.

“Bartenders in general, I guess.”  
“Depends if you’re looking,” Poe replied a moment later, grinning handsomely. “If you’re good looking enough… I guess?”

“Maybe I should consider a career change,” Finn muttered, and the table laughed. Rey grinned at her friend.

“Man, why didn’t you tell me this before I drove all the way here?” she joked. He smiled at her from across the table, giving her a wink. It certainly was a joke.  _ Getting laid  _ was not near the top of her lists for attempting this career thing. It would be… alright as a collateral perk, but she was forcing herself to focus at the moment. She hadn’t even gone on a date with anyone in ages, and this city was so full of attractive men… but Rey considered herself pretty awkward, pretty plain, and pretty poor at flirting or any of the related activities. Yes, she was there for the art, and not much else. 

Later that night, they all headed out together, leaving the warm, bubbling bar into the chilly spring New York night.

“Hey, save us a seat for that show next week,” Finn said to him, as they all walked onto the sidewalk in front of the bar. Rey zipped up her coat, and Poe nodded, smiling crookedly.

“I’ll try my best - come early, we tend to fill up on show nights! You guys have a good night.”

Jess gave him a wave and Rey a “goodnight”, and he turned around and walked down the street the opposite direction from the way to their house. Finn stood there for a moment, watching his receding back, a small smile on his lips.

“Yoo hoo,” Jess called, tucking some hair behind her ear and tugging on his sleeve. “Let’s pack it up, champ.”

Finn quickly nodded, and they started off down the busy sidewalk in the direction of their apartment, which was filled with many passing people and noise passing cars. Rey fell into step on the grimy sidewalk, with her old friend, smiling to herself.

“So you never told me about all that…” she said after a moment, in a slightly teasing tone. Finn scoffed.

“Excuse me if I didn’t put it a Christmas card…” he replied, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. “But there you go.”

She smiled at her friend, feeling warm despite the chill in the air outside. They walked down the busy street, the sounds of music from passing stores and restaurants and bright lights blaring everywhere almost making you forget it was night time. Rey couldn’t help but compare it to nights back in Jakku, which were so very quiet, except the chorus of crickets. 

“It’s just because everything’s going really well for me right now,” Finn spoke up after they had walked a block in silence. “With the project and having you here and stuff, I don’t wanna screw anything up. If he rejected me, it would make it all weird. I’m… fine with the balance I have now. But he’s really cool… he flies planes, you know. Charters on the weekends upstate.”

“Wow.” Rey observed. “He’s the complete package…”

Finn gave a dark sort of chuckle, and a shrug. 

“Thanks for the reminder.”

Smiling contentedly at his old friend, Finn tossed an arm around her shoulders as they turned a corner on the street. It was times like this that Rey loved the most, just walking around the city with her old friend, far from any worries or stress about the future or money or her career. Just the bright lights, the big city, and good company. 

She wondered how long it would last. 

 


End file.
